The Squib House
by whYreader
Summary: Hunted by the Wizengamot and Death Eaters, Sirius Black is sent to live in a safe house for squibs during the First Wizarding War. There he is exposed to a world of unorthodox magic, ministry politics, and bootleg potion brewing, by a suspicious young woman who might just be the key to his survival. Sirius/Marlene, James/Lily. Post-Hogwarts Canon.
1. Of Best Man Speeches

DISCLAIMER: All copy/publication rights to JK. Rowling.

PART 1, Chapter 1: Of Hangovers, Barking Watering Pots, and Best Man Speeches.

The sun's rays bled into the open garage door, reflecting in the rearview mirrors of my motorbike. The mirrors flashed a striking white light into my eyes, making me squirm against the leather seat.

A colourful array of curse words left my mouth, as I tried to focus out the painful discoloration and tears on the brim of my eyelids blocking my sight.

This wasn't the first time I was running away from home while blind and cursing. Not too long ago, 16 years' worth of belongings were hastily thrown in my trunk in a span of 16 seconds in the middle of the night. In the pitch darkness of the Black household, my anger guided my feet out the door, while I hollered every curse word known by _pureblood, half-blood, muggle-born,_ troll, goblin, and werewolf.

I should also note that when I got to James' house and opened my trunk that night, none of my socks made a pair, my so called vintage band t-shirts were substituted for dressing robes, and the textbooks gathered could have been used by a second year student. Merlin knows how my good knickers made it out with me.

When I had left 12 Grimmauld Place for the last time, I was a fool to believed that the pureblood mania was past me. By stepping out that door, I had rejected the incestuous marriage arrangements, laundered inheritance, and limited occupational choices (Death Eater, or politician), so technically speaking I had nothing left to do with my primeval family.

But here I was again, less than a year later, being sent away from my home, because of them. While my mates would be off fighting Death Eaters, and recruiting members for the Order of the Phoenix, I would _gallantly spend my time blindly traveling through uncertain circumstances to find my destiny…_

I am not bluffing, that was exactly the poetic bull Dumbledore tried to feed me last week when he said I had to leave. Merlin knows what he had spiked in his pumpkin juice to come up with that. But clearly I needed what he was drinking if I wanted to keep hold of my sanity.

As I adjusted my grip on the handlebars of the bike, sharp pain shot out of my skull. Firewhiskey for dinner was not Peter's brightest suggestion, but it seemed like a good idea last night.

The pain alluded to blurrier vision and a wave of nausea boiled in my stomach, throwing me off my motorbike. I fell to the floor, landing on—to my convenience—a bewitched watering pot, which started showering me of its own accord. Water sprayed out from all directions, ruining my tousled hair and prized leather jacket, as the metal pot jumped up and down like an angry dog whose tail had been stepped on. The pot endlessly refilled itself, and continued washing over my limp body and an entirely new range of curse words left my mouth. When the water was getting dangerously close to my motorbike, I silenced the mutt with my wand before it could do any more damage. Leather bike accessories aren't cheap.

If I were one of those glass half full types, I would probably be thankful that the water had woken me up, and reduced the pain in my head. But then again, I wouldn't be attacked by a watering pot if I wasn't forced to leave.

One day when I'm old and grey, and James's grandchildren ask how I started my courageous journey, I'll be sure to tell them that I was blind and hung-over, while wrestling a dog-like garden utensil.

"Padfoot if you wanted a last minute wash, the swamp in my backyard is just itching to swallow up something good," said James' voice nearby. A chime of laughter followed, which sounded like Remus and Peter.

I turned around to see my friends standing in front of the garage doors, for who knows how long, laughing at my graceful antics.

"Prongs out of bed before noon," I countered, "Lily made you sleep on the couch again?"

This earned me a laugh from everyone as they entered the small room. Even in the dim light of the garage, they weren't much to look at with their sleepy faces, and disheveled clothes from the night before. Then again, this time of day was equivalent to the crack of dawn for them, and none of them were known for being early birds.

Come to think of it, after how pissed everyone got the night before, Merlin knows how they all got out of bed.

"Shut-up you prat. Why you taking off without saying good-bye?" he asked fixing his lopsided glasses to get a better look at me.

"Besides, you're doing a lousier job of it than when Moony tried to get away on full moons in first-year" Peter's voice boomed in.

"Hey I was discreet while making those trips," Remus argued, "and if you lot weren't so nosy and followed me around, it would have probably been a long time before you found out…"

"Moony, you kept a calendar labeled with "Sick Days" on 30-day transition schedule" I interrupted, "What were we supposed to do, believe you were a seer predicting your female cycles?"

"Yeah, first year wasn't my brightest," he added sheepishly, which made everyone break into a hearty laugh. Their laughter was quickly replaced by anxious expressions, and they each exchanged glances between themselves.

I deliberately tried leaving at dawn to save any last unnecessary 'don't do anything stupid' speeches from Remus, or more crying from Peter. And I definitely didn't need the repeated 'you'll be back in a month' advice from James, which he said in-between breaths every day for the past week.

"You know the whole point of running away, is to do it without being noticed." I pointed out before any of them could get a word in.

"Stop being so dramatic Padfoot," Remus tried to joke, but his face still held worry, "You're not running away, you're just... going into hiding."

" _Tomayto_ , _Tomahto_ " I muttered under my breath.

All I'm saying is that it wasn't very Gryffindor of me to abandon my friends and the Order in the middle of a war.

"Who the hell says Tomayto?" Peter whispered

"Americans," James whispered back, as they followed me into the garage like lost puppies.

The first time I left home, I didn't even admit to myself what I was doing until I was halfway out the door. I was so angry that my arms automatically started gathering my things,as silently as peter in animagus form. I think at the time, I feared being jailed in my room with protective wards from my _overprotective_ mother, or even chained to the leg of our house-elf Kreature by my _concerned_ father.

That behaviour wasn't unexpected of them, especially when I was their eldest son and heir to the Black family. Having knowledge of crimes that could have sent them both to Azkaban definitely didn't have anything to do with it.

I knew The Marauders weren't remotely like the Blacks. Even though I envied all of their freedom, and their worries overbearing, the the least I could do was let them give me a proper send off.

"So let's hear it. What do you lot have to say to me that woke you up despite being totally pissed from last night. I mean, we all said our good-byes yesterday,"

"To be honest Padfoot, no one remembers the good-byes from yesterday, so I think we owe you this much" Remus said as he took a small parcel out of his pocket.

"Awe Moony feeling emotional? That had better not be an engagement ring, because I'm not making any promises there."

"They're muggle stamps you arse. It's the safest way of communication wherever you're going, so you had better get used to them" he said tossing them towards me. As I looked at the worry lines on his forehead and the lectured glare he held, my chest began to feel heavy. This was the feeling I wanted to avoid most.

"Take care of yourself Moony," I whispered shoving the package in my pocket. He came up to me, gripping my shoulder before embracing me into a small hug. The thoughts of not being there to sneak money into his wallet, or rant about the senseless anti-werewolf laws, came into my head. And although James and Peter and Lily would still support him, he would still be my biggest concern of all my friends.

"Bye Padfoot, he said with a nod. Peter came up next with actual tears in his eyes. I tried to hold a smirk back, as he wrapped his arms tightly around my waist and started sobbing.

"Off with it Wormtail, no need to get emotional. It's not like I've enlisted in the Ministry Army...unless that's Dumbledore's idea of keeping me safe." This wasn't ideally his idea of a joke, and brought louder wails from him.

"Quit scaring him Padfoot," James chimed in.

"Wanted for questioning by the Ministry, targeted by Deatheaters, and now its not even safe enough for you to stay with the Order! How do you sleep at night?" He said with a quivering voice.

"Come now Wormtail, what would your mother think if she saw you crying like this?

"I'm going home to take care of her," said Peter shaking, "I'll write to you whenever I can,".

"I expect a letter every week Wormtail," I said in a hoarse voice. I felt a lump forming in my throat as he started backing away. Remus told me about Peter's situation the night before. He was also leaving the Order to deal with family issues. But coincidentally he was going to take care of his family, not runaway from them.

James was next, giving me the "you'll be back in a month" expression. But before he could say it for the millionth time, we were graciously interrupted.

"BOYS!" came the sweet voice of James' girlfriend which sent even the strongest of birds plummeting down the near by trees.

"WHY IS THERE FIREWISHKEY BOTTLES LINED UP ALL AROUND THE PORCH?" she continued walking up to us with the same volume. She was known for talking loudly to aid those who had trouble hearing...usually caused by previous conversations with her.

"YOU KNOW WE HAVE TO PRACTICE SOBRIETY AS ACTIVE MEMBERS OF THE ORDER, SO IF DUMBLEDORE COMES BY I AM GOING TO REPORT YOU RIGHT AWAY AND…"

"Oi, Evans, you are no longer Headgirl, so get that pin out of your arse and use it on James for later!" I yell back to save my mate from a near death experience. Her flaming red hair matched the colour of her skin, and she clutched onto a small paper bag. James was shaking behind me while he tried to interject.

"Well sweetheart, Sirius is leaving and so last night we had a little celebration to…"

"Oh save it Potter, ill deal with you in the house." She snapped striding towards me.

"Yes dear." He said in the same voice Peter used moments before.

"Prongs in his finest moment," coughed Moony.

"YOU" she started shoving the bag into my hands, "Just because you're leaving, I'll forget what you said about my arse and I wont hex you into oblivion." Lily pointed her finger a lot when she spoke, someone really ought to tell her how rude that was.

"Now give me a hug you buggering idiot," she muttered and I wrapped her around my arms while laughing into her hair.

"Is this a BLT? Oh did you put extra mustard in it?" I teased her, but really I felt touched that she would go through the trouble.

Mocking Lily used to be one of my favourite pass times at Hogwarts. We never saw eye to eye, but after growing closer to James, she grew a possessive mother bear instinct over the rest of the Marauders, making sure there was food in the fridge, and reminding us to do our laundry before we ran out of clean clothes. She also deflated James' head a good few inches and it fit nicely on his head by the time we graduated.

"Of course I did! Now listen, you need to be careful," she said in my hair with a softer voice, "If you need anything, send word and we will somehow get it to you. Also is it really necessary to travel by this attention seeking joyride, because if you ask me I think its…"

"Yes mother, I will do my best" I interrupted breaking out of the hug.

I put my lips to her ear and whispered, "And if he gets down on one knee before I come back, for the love of Merlin, say yes Evans. I don't think my attention span could take his constant moaning of rejection all over again." Lily gave me a small laugh, while also holding back tears in her eyes. It was almost a sweet moment-until her face distorted into a nagging expression once again.

"Oi, you lot help me clean the mess you so kindly left outside!" She instructed to the Marauders, and Peter and Remus followed her out.

"Go help them," I said to James who stayed behind. Avoiding his gaze, I got onto my bike and put my gifts into the back compartment.

"And I swear Prongs, if you say I'm coming back in a month one more time, I'll go outside and tell Lily all about our little run-in with the muggle police in London," I warned him when he didn't leave.

"I guess you're going to have to use this for two months then" he suggested holding up a small item wrapped in cloth. He never failed to make me smile.

I took a good look at James who absent-mindedly ran his hands through his hair, as he walked up to my bike. I still pictured the lanky, pointy-faced boy I met so many years ago on the Hogwarts express. And as he still had the same proud smile, unruly hair, and lame humour, I knew he would never change. James placed the item inside one of the pockets of my leather jacket.

"What is that anyway?" I said as he turns to see me. His infamous smirk appeared once again.

"Remember the two-way mirror Fitch confiscated in sixth year?"

"You got it back! How did you even get into his office?" I snapped my head up in excitement.

"Believe it or not, Ms. Lily Evans, got it back on a dare from me when doing rounds," he said proudly.

"Prongs, if you don't marry her I will!"

We both laughed once again, looking out the garage doors. Lily was happily bossing Peter and Remus on the porch, making them pick up broken Firewhiskey bottles from the night before.

When our laughter died down into a comforting silence, I felt my throat closing in. Since I was eleven years old, I have never been separated from James Potter. We spent all our time at Hogwarts together, the holidays were always at his home, after I turned sixteen…well I would've been out on the street if it weren't for his family.

"Listen to me," I said clearing my throat, "I wrote a will. Its in the second drawer of my dresser… incase…. you know…"

"There were better ways of wasting your time," He said putting a hand on my shoulder "shooting flies with your wand, finally reading the History of Hogwarts, honestly mate the possibilities are endless". However, James' lighthearted words didn't read his face.

"Look, you're a survivor. I know if anyone can get through this its you" James said in all seriousness. I didn't know how to respond to that, as we rarely had serious conversations.

I took my time putting on my helmet and gloves, letting his words simmer in my mind. I shouldn't have had to be going through any of this in the first place.

Turning on the ignition of the bike, the engine let out a rambunctious sound. It must have been heard by the entire neighbourhood, as even Lily halted her yells outside.

"I'll send word as the first sight of him," James yelled over the engine. "He's the wanted man here Sirius, not you"

James followed me out onto the driveway, squinting from the beaming sunlight. The sun was now above the distant trees, and the sky was clear and bright blue. Back at Hogwarts, this was ideal weather for Quidditch, or taking a dip in the Great Lake. I couldn't picture what the ideal weather for running away was.

My eyes started absentmindedly tracing my route through the stream of clouds heading east. I slowly drove my bike onto the end of the property, James walking alongside me in silence.

"Then why am I the one leaving?" I delayed my question for as long as I could. We both knew the answer. But even now, with my muggle stamps, BLT, and two way mirror, it still seemed surreal.

"Because you have something to come back to." His words made me pull the breaks. I took off my helmet and started at him in awe, wondering when James Potter became so wise.

"Sirius, I know you're angry. But you gotta stay focused, because we need you back alive. I'm not getting married until I'm sure you've prepared a god-awful best man speech, and Lily already said if you don't do it, then she's going to …"

I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him from talking. I didn't need to say anything to James for him to understand how I was feeling.

"Give Evans a hard time while i'm gone for the month," I said quietly.

"I'll make sure to cause enough havoc for two months," he laughed. "And in the meantime, just turn into your animagus if you feel uneasy," James' eyes lit up with the idea.

I pulled on the levitation lever and the bike started hovering up towards the sky

"Is that what you do when Evans starts bickering at you?" I yell over my shoulder as the bike gained height. He flung his head back with laughter, and I was grateful it was the last memory I had of him before I left.

The motorbike gained height until it was fifty feet in the air, and I allowed myself to turn and look below. The Potter manner shrunk into the size of my thumb, as my ant sized friends were jumping up and down waving up at me. Pulling on the acceleration lever, I tried to focus on the journey ahead of me.

James was right. I had to come back to them in one piece, or else the best man speech would probably be written by Lily Potter.

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This story is basically my first-born, and like all new mom's, idk wtf I'm doing! I need your support to guide me through it! I would LOVE LOVE LOVE, to read your thoughts/comments on the chapter! You have constructive criticism or advice? EVEN BETTER!

I'm a long time fan fiction reader who recently found the courage to publish my own work, after reading endless cliches and overdone story lines. If you think my story sounds promising (and originial) please stick around, I tried to make this as unconventional from most Sirius Black fanfictions as I could without breaking canon


	2. Of False Apparation

DISCLAIMER: All copy/publication rights to JK. Rowling.

I'm sorry for updating so late! I'm not gunna lie, this was a very difficult chapter for me to write because I wanted to do the character justice.

ALSO: This chapter is dedicated to the guest who wrote the first review of my story! I wish I knew your name to thank you via email, because you seriously inspired me to continue writing and push through this chapter! Please keep reading guys, I know things may seem a bit bleak right now, but its all building up to a big climax!

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PART 1, Chapter 2: Of Iris Setter, Pancake Batter, and Fake Aparation

It was instinct that I had woken up five minutes before my alarm.

Just like I always double knotted my shoe laces, or took a whiff of every drink I had before putting it to my mouth, every morning my eyes would consistently open at 5:55am. Somewhere in this routine, my hands developed a knack of shutting off the alarm clock at the exact moment I'd waken up.

I had continued to set it up every night, regardless of never hearing its ring in the past seven years.

Most mornings as this was happening, my dream from the night before continued to play out in my eyes. I've read seers believe dreams can predict the future. That your dreams overlay your deepest desires, and foreshadow your destiny. Personally, I think the whole profession is a load of rubbish, and dreams a waste of energy.

Like today for instance, when waking up, I still pictured the large black grim from the night before. Funny thing is, this house hasn't seen a dog….since…..well at least as long as I've been here.

But still in my dreams this large black dog was running around my room, tearing up my pillows, throwing books off the shelves, and trying to eat my plants from their pots. When I found it in the middle of the mess and started yelling, the dog ran underneath my bed and I woke up.

I had a dog growing up. Her name was Ruby and she was a large Irish Setter, who had red coloured hair that put any other dog's coat to shame.

At the age of five I declared her to be the size of a hippogriff, as she was a foot taller than me, and I would climb on her back and fly around the house all day. The house elves would cower at the sight of her, and so I would feed and bathe Ruby myself. (Although my mother would help me clip her nails, as the slightest mention of it would make her hide underneath my bed). While she had a comfortable cot in her own luxurious room, every night Ruby choose to sleep beside me, protecting me from the ghouls hiding in my closet.

The thoughts of dogs still lingered as I got out of bed and smoothed out the sheets, aligned the pillows with the headboard, and tucked the quilt in the corners of the mattress. To amuse myself I took a look under my bed, but wasn't surprised to see that below there was no sign of a Grim or Ruby or even a dust bunny for that matter.

My morning routine kept my hands busy, changing into something from my wardrobe (which was usually black, white or grey), watering the plants stacked on the window and double knotting the shoe laces of my worn sneakers. Glancing back at the arranged room one more time, I saw the little alarm clock read 6:00 am.

At this time of the morning the narrow hallways of the sixth floor were dark and deserted, while orchestrated snores and wheezing's bounced off the damp walls.

I had no complaints when Idris decided to room Iris, and later Romania and Opal near me, assuming that girls my age would be graceful, or at least bothered to clean up the mildew oozing out their side of the walls. They were all from traditional wizarding families, and despite their lack of magical abilities, grew up with house elves sweeping their floors, serving their meals, and probably haven't had to share anything in their entire lives.

Once in a while Iris would try to bribe one of the children to take care of her mess, but that rarely worked. Our residents might have been squibs, but they weren't the simpletons the wizarding world made them out to be.

One of the perks of my military like routine was that I had the bathroom all to myself. Not that I necessarily needed a large amount of time of to pursue my complex makeup routine.

Appearance was a secondary thought, especially after mine started failing years ago. Although one couldn't develop wrinkles or greying hair at the ripe-old age of sixteen, my once blue eyes and golden locks were cursed into resembling the colour of a grim. Don't get me wrong, this wasn't an insecurity or regret of mine, I didn't have time to deal with such nonsense. My plain dark features were something I had to accept in the same way I accepted my life in the Squib House.

Besides, frivolous beauty products were costly, time consuming, and quite frankly unnecessary to wear in a house full of children. I reminded myself that of the two blokes that were similar to my age in this house, Kendick had gone fully blind, and Collin was probably wishing he had Kendrick's illness.

As I walked into the loo, the floor was littered with makeup wipes and empty beauty products. Picking the latest beauty magazine off the basin, I had let the water fill to the top and splashed it over my face, numbing my worry lines and the thoughts of my cheeky neighbors. I ran a tooth brush through my teeth while absentmindedly avoiding the mirror as much as possible. With a fine toothed comb, I pulled my hair into my usual plait and dried my face with a cloth.

A very complex beauty routine indeed.

The smell of baked bread and eggs had reached my nose, informing me that breakfast had started cooking early today. I had the usual breakfast of a large cup of willowbark tea with the occasional biscuit, but as my own work couldn't start until Collin was up, I started helping out the kitchen staff in the morning to pass time. It kept my hands busy enough until my real job started.

Assuming the scheduled workers were cooking up their usual morning tasks, I made my way down several flights of stone steps, which ended at the back entrance of the kitchen.

To my surprise, instead of the usual small herd of children whisking eggs or baking bread with the morning supervisors, the room full of cooked food was empty.

Craning my neck behind the array of plates stacked to the ceiling, puffy bread baked by the dozens, and enough eggs boiled to feed the Ministry army in France, I spotted Arabella Figg cooking buckets full of raw oatmeal to add to the mountains of food. I silently leaned against the doorway, amused by her antics of gawking at the kitchen clock, while simultaneously stirring the hot cereal in a pot the size of our water well.

Arabella's back was always slightly hunched, and the silver threads of hair were evident in between her brown locks, while she wore dark circles under eyes as often as Iris' wore red lipstick. Today she had worn her favourite outfit, of a brown smock apron always covered in some food ingredient, with a matching hairnet.

"Its about time you showed up," she said without looking up from the clock.

"Has no one been scheduled to help you?" I asked coming into the room and putting on an apron. My voice startled her, and she dropped her stir stick in the oatmeal.

"Oh s-s-orry child, I thought you were …Dorris!" She stammered, while trying to pick her ladle out of the hot cereal, and clearly avoided eye contact.

"Why are you all alone?" I questioned, putting a hand on her shoulder, which made her jump

"Margaret, Jefferson, Shelly, Tibby, and Tom are all in the infirmary with stomach flu," she said quickly, not considering that it was months away from flu season. We did have the occasional child acting an illness to get out of their chores, but Arabella always made sure to substitute them.

"And no one else in the house got sick? I swear you helped cook dinner last night too," I asked while walking up to the large black oven and warming it up with a match. I wasnt about to let her fend for herself in the kitchen.

"And Doris?" I asked suspiciously, who was a batty old woman and morning usual in the kitchen.

"I-s taking over your English lesson," she replied a bit more confidently. I could have let her go on with her story, but Arabella was a rare and awful liar. And never to me.

"On a Saturday?" the words blurted out of my mouth without even thinking. I turned my attention to the pancake batter, which needed to be poured and flipped on the oven.

But Arabella wasn't paying attention. Instead her eyes were back on the clock, while her hand absentmindedly turned the oatmeal with the ladle. At the speed she was stirring, the children would be eating oatmeal soup for breakfast.

I reached out for her hand to stop her stir stick and her eyes sharply turned towards me.

"You woke up at the crack of dawn to cook all of this food by yourself?" I challenged, "The least you could have done was call me, you knew I helped out most mornings anyways…"

"I had other things on my mind child!" she raised her voice, once again pushing my hands away. I stepped back in disbelief and went back to the pancakes.

Another rarity of Arabella's was yelling at me.

"You have better things to worry about who is cooking breakfast," she snapped, after turning around realizing that I was handled the pancake batter behind her.

" _ITS_ under control," I said with my back to her, defensiveness evident in my voice. I slapped the batter onto the pan dramatically, as if to show her I was more than capable of handling both breakfast and my job.

"I didn't mean it like that." Arabella murmered, but didnt bother continuing the conversation.

We spent the next hour working in silence, to prepare the remains of breakfast. The usual time it would take the six children and Dorris to finish a meal, was easily managed with our fast hands, and multi-tasking abilities.

Our movements spoke for us, handing each other ingredients without being asked, simultaneously switching tasks between flipping pancakes, and stirring oatmeal to fill the bellies of our 103 residents.

On a normal day, we would both be too absorbed in our work to make small talk, but today the silence in the room made the air too heavy to breathe. Every so often I saw Arabella abandone her pot to look back up at the clock or out the window.

As crabby and absentminded as she was, Arabella was the closest thing I would ever have to resemble a parent. Even though I lived in my Godmother's house, Idris only stopped by every few months to check up on our finances. And although my _father_ was well and alive, it had been years since I had even the slightest thought of him. I grew up with Arabella the only adult in this house, as she attempted to raise me along with her toddler. Key word: attempted.

When I first came to this house, I wanted absolutely nothing to with them. My arrogance often reminded Arabella that it wasn't her place to bear a figure of authority over me, as she was employed under Idris, therefore as her god-daughter, myself as well.

And despite this coldness, Arabella tried to reach out, and teach me about muggle ways; in which I had accused her of trying to raise me as a squib, just like Arianna. (Who at the age of five, was confirmed to not have a drop of magical blood in her).

It was only the three of us in the large estate and I would often throw fits of not speaking to either of the Figgs, while staying locked in my room and ignoring plates of food left at my door. That had gone on for some time before Arabella changed her tactics on how to raise me.

"I don't like how _the business_ has become solely your burden to bare," Arabella admitted a while later, when she came beside me to check on my progress with the pancakes. She was one to talk, as I heard countless stories of her black-market trading of cross-bread cats and kneazles at the age of 16. She started counting the finished ones on a plate, while watching me closely.

Similarily to the kneazle-cat, our trades were unethical, but technically not dangerous. We sold without a license, but nothing that was ever illegal on the actual market. And Arabella rarely had a reasonto complain about it, because she knew it was our only option of survival at the moment.

"If it weren't my burden, our occupancy would be cut in half," I simply stated,

"But your concern for me isnt the reason you keep checking the clock every five minutes, now is it? I grabbed her hand and made her look up at me once again.

"What are you so worried about?" I said sympathetically. Usually I would have been much more aggressive towards Arabella but the mind-numbing task of pour batter and flipping pancakes, kept my hands busy.

"You need to make about another 78," Arabella said plainly, pulling her hand away from my grasp and going back to her station.

An awkward silence once again began to fill the kitchen, the only noises coming from the sizzling fry pan and boiling water. Anger rose up in my chest, and her strange behaviour started distracting my work.

I accidentally added salt instead of sugar to a batch of mixture, and then later burned the salty pancakes on the fry pan. Cooking was a mind-numbing activity, that came very easily to me. But the thought of Arabella keeping secrets from me was so infuriating, my head couldn't cooperate with my hands.

We made eye contact when I brushed past her to throw out the batch of burnt pancakes, and then she responded by giving me the too familiar expression of pretending not to see me.

That was her next tactic used to raise. Arabella would ignore me, pretending not to notice the things I smuggled into my room from Idris' freezers and cabinets, or the remains of their smells always left on my breath and clothes. She pretended not to hear my cries and yells, and ignored my convoluted words to her about status and blood. Overlooking my tantrums and methods of coping, was her way of accepting me. Once I had realized she would never judge me for my behaviour, her silence became the key to make it through my room door.

When my deviant behaviour became and I started to get bored of wallowing in my own grief, I would go down to the kitchen and help her prepare meals. Later she got me into the the garden to tend to the plants with her, or gave me a broom to sweep up the house. It took a while before she could convince me to watch over Arianna practicing her letters, and even longer before giving me textbooks of my own to study.

All the while Arabella never made it seem like any of these tasks were her ideas. She would pretend not to notice me reading muggle novels, or watching muggle films, and eventually I started to pretend not to think about my life before the Squib House.

But that was all before the war.

By the time I had finished the remaining pancakes, Arabella had already started cleaning up the kitchen. She swept around my feet, and avoided wiping my parts of the counter, as to deliberately ignore any more questions from me.

It wasn't until I started washing my hands in sink that she spoke.

"You should probably head up stairs and prep for the new batch today," she said coldly, which was a strange way of thanking me for spending the past hour helping her finish breakfast.

"I think I'll stay right here and enjoy this wonderful breakfast you worked so hard to make _yourself_ ," I said sarcasm oozing out of my voice. She knew I usually ignored the kitchen breakfast, so just to spite her, I ferociously grabbed a plate from the counter and loaded it with enough eggs, bacon, oatmeal and pancakes for three people to eat.

I sat down on the counter right in front of her, and began shovling food into my mouth.

"Besides, aren't you always saying that I should sit down with you and have a real meal?" I said between mouthfuls. "We'll I'm going to take you up on that offer today."

She grabbed my fork out of my hands and looked up at me.

"Child, I beg of you not to push my buttons any further today," Arabella pleaded.

"Then what the bloody hell is going on with you…"

"Do you think I enjoy treating you like this?" She started shrieking impatiently. "I feel like I' m going to faint because all of it was supposed to be over hours ago, the entire bloody house will be downstairs in the next 15 minutes, and now you're up my back like a member of the Wizengamot, refusing to believe that I would tell you my troubles if I could!"

"You could have started with that," I said sheepishly, a pang of guilt in my stomach for what I just put her through.

"Please just go," she said with her hands to her temples.

"Are you sure you're not going to faint?" I asked, suddenly noticing her pale complexion and worry lines on her forehead.

"Only if you continue to stay here and pester me with questions," she said with a small smile, while massaging her forehead.

"Its not like it hasn't happened before," I said trying to lighten up the mood before leaving.

I made my way back up the stairs with suspicion still on my mind. I might have overacted with Arabella's secrecy, but she had never kept anything from me.

Walking through the sixth floor, I noticed the sounds of snores and wheezes were replaced with loud bantering through the closed bathroom. Iris, Opal, and Romania must have finally gotten up from their beauty sleep and were now putting their faces on.

Silently walking across the hall to avoid an encounter, I made my way to the thin wooden ladder which led to the attic of the house.

Most of our residents weren't aware that our Squib House even had an attic, as its entrance was hidden in the corner of a dingy and moldy floor no one bothered to visit. I lived on the floor for years, but never bothered to look where the ladder in the secluded corner led to. It was Idris who pointed it out a few years back when we needed space for our workshop.

I climbed up the ladder, which led to a small nook camouflaged by the ceiling. It was very easy to miss in the dim lighting, but the nook opened as an entrance to the seventh floor of the Squib House; also known as our potions workshop.

To my expectation, the large workshop was absent of Collin; the sole scheduled worker that I needed in order to brew the new batch for today.

It had taken us a full month to fill the room with our equipment, which would now be collecting dust if it werent for myself. It was painful to get a dozen oversized cauldrons through the small alcove, and I still had bruised from the long wooden counters, metal sinks and cabinets which we all had to move from empty classrooms. Most of the ingredients and substances in the glass vials could not be found in the local village, and had to be purhased from our black market supplier. And the array of different plants stacked near the windows were all grown in the garden and brought upstairs for easy access. The only thing the room originally contained was the shelves full of dusty wizard books, which varied between useful to unreadable.

I walked up to the large crates stacked in the corner of the room, full of potions ready to be sold for the next shipment date. We were ahead in our orders, but only because I invested most of my time prepping for our next batch.

Behind the crates, hung a black and white photo on the wall of our original members of the workshop. Arabella had taken the photo on our first day, as we all leaned against the newly furnished wooden counter and talked about our excitement and hope with the business.

Collin stood in a corner next to me, with his handsome grin and blond ponytail neatly tied behind his head and his wand sticking out of his jumper pocket. I looked younger in the photo, with a small smile and absent of dark circles under my eyes. Next to me was Kendrick, whose wand was placed behind his ear, beside his glasses thicker than windows, while wearing a board smile that was now rarely seen. Then stood Iris, looking like the cover girl of _Witch Weekly_ in a smock she had put on minutes before the photo for "more visual aesthetic". And next to her was Romania and Opal with their hands around each other, who back then, had significantly less amounts of makeup on their faces, and showed up to help in the workshop almost every day.

Things were very smooth with the business in the beginning, when it was first proposed to Idris. Collin and Kendrick were both wizards on the run, who wanted to repay Idris for her kindness of housing them in the Squib House. The girls soon joined when they realized making potions was more respectable than picking weeds out of the garden, and they helped out with all the preparations that could be done without the use of magic.

But soon the excitement of new business wore off, and the repetitive actions and long hours bore our potions brewers. When our orders became larger and more demanding, they "stressed" Iris out too much, and she took up teaching arithmetic lessons to the residents instead. Romania and Opal followed her shorty after, and all the non-magical work they used to do all fell on my shoulders.

When Kendrick's eyesight started failing him a couple months ago, he became bitter and depressed, and now rarely left the infirmary.

I was once desperate enough to get him upstairs to conduct a spell for a potion, only to have him brawl his eyes out for being carried up the ladder, and then again when I had to guide his wand movemenst.

And then there was Collin, our master potioneer. The business now solely relied on Collin's magic and my efforts. But as Kendrick no longer came, Collin's moods started to fluctuate in the workshop, like Iris on her time of the month.

If I were able to use magic, then I wouldn't need to rely on them to finish our orders. I wouldn't have to feel guilty about dragging a newly blind Kendrick out of the infirmary, or kiss Romania and Opal's feet on the off chance they decided to show up. And I definitely wouldn't have to wait for Collin like a lost puppy on the days he decides not to show up.

I looked out of the sealed window, in hopes of finding Collin, as the view from the attic displayed everything up to the magical barrier, from the lush garden, to the open feilds, and winding forrest fencing around the property.

I eventually spotted Collin in one of his usual hideouts, smoking outside the shed behind the garden.

He was supposed to be looking up the ingredients for a new potion we were attempting to create for trade. But as I looked up to the bright sun and sky cloudless, I figured he wouldn't bother to show up…

I suddenly noticed a faint figure appear in the sky, flying closer towards my window. At first I thought it was a bird, but as it grew nearer it resembled the grim from my dream; which was impossible because grim's couldn't fly.

The figure got closer to my view and I realized that it was not grim, but a person. I strained my eyes to make out a man on a large contraption that was leaving a large trail of smoke where he flew.

I couldn't imagine how they were able to get through the barrier, and fly into our property, but that was the least of my concerns.

But my thoughts quickly changed, when I realized that the man wasn't flying at all

...but falling with his vehicle on fire...

…right into the direction of the shed...

I looked down and saw Collin, continuously smoking and blissfully unaware of what was going on above him.

My heart felt like it would burst into a million pieces, as I continued to look up at the man and back at Collin, realizing what was about to happen.

Without a moments hesitation, I sprinted out of the workshop, and down the Squib House stairs towards the shed, at a speed which was the closest I would ever feel to apparating


End file.
